


In His Arms

by Whatevergirl



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 18:26:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/726437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Kink Meme Prompt: "The five times Valjean had to carry Javert somewhere, and the one time Javert attempted to carry Valjean and failed miserably." From Round 2 Page 22 of the makinghugospin kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first time was during an escape attempt from Toulon. He had been running desperately, aware of the guard behind him. He ran along and up a small path. It led to a wooded area, where the path rose. It was raining heavily, and the air was quite cool. He was pleased that this was so, as the exertion combined with his fear of being caught had him rather heated.

A glance behind told him the young guard was catching up, not deterred by the distance they had ran. Further back, he was sure, there would be more guards. 

Javert appeared flushed, his face red and his chest heaving. Valjean turned and hurried on. He would not be caught this time. His feet fell firmly, missing the tree roots and the shrubbery, managing to fall only on the soaked earth, trying hard not to slip. The ground began to ascend into a hill, not a large one, thankfully but it was a noticeable climb. 

His calves burned. His lungs burned. His sweat was pooling down his back. He was escaping though.  
He had to slow his pace soon though, as the path came close to a steep slope. Nothing too treacherous, but there were a few particularly sharp drops and he did not wish to fall.

“Stop!” The guard’s harsh voice called. He turned slightly to check his distance. The young man was hurrying towards him; he was not slowing down.

Valjean kept moving. He was nearly free. Just one guard to lose and he could be free...

A yell echoed out, and there was a loud scuffling noise behind him. Valjean turned to see the guard over the side of the path. He appeared to have bashed the side of his head; there was blood pouring down the side. He did not need to be concerned over this, head wounds often bled a fair bit, as he had discovered this from the number of fights he had seen in Toulon.

The guard was grasping a tree root, trying to pull himself up. The ground was too steep though, and he did not seem capable of it. Now was his chance. The guard put a foot under him and went to push himself up, but yelped and fell again.

Were there tears on his eyes? Maybe it was just the rain... the sight of the mud splattered guard with his face in a pained grimace and his uniform ruined tugged at Valjean though. His fingers were only just gripping the bark now, he would fall...

There did not seem to be a moment of consideration- Valjean was already over there as soon as he realised the guard’s precautious position. He grasped the young man’s wrist and pulled him back up.

Javert fell against him, spreading the mud over his already filthy prison clothes. His breath was short and faint. The convict let him fall to the ground so he could check the leg. It was the left leg that was a problem, there was an obvious break in it as the shin was bent in a place that was not meant to.

He touched it lightly, curiosity overcoming him as he stared and the pale, dark haired leg of the prison guard. Javert cried out though, hands fluttering as though he did not know where to place them. Some of the water on his face was coming from his eyes...

Valjean looked over his shoulder at the path that seemed to call his freedom at him. So close... But could he leave now? How would the man get back? How close were the other guards? He was surprised they were not already here.

He stood and looked down. The guard lay beneath him, his face pale and his eyes shut. He was still gasping... There really was no choice. Maybe he could drop the young man off in town and be gone before anyone caught him.

He bent down and wrapped an arm around Javert’s shoulder; the other went across his chest. Straightening his back, Valjean rose up, pulling the guard with him, who cried out weakly again. Once he was standing with the weight leaning heavily against him, he tried to decide the best way forward.

Over his shoulder? No, the guard would never agree to that, regardless of how weak he was. On his back? He would be able to see where he was putting his feet, but how would he get Javert there? He did not seem capable of standing on his own, never mind scrambling up onto his back. In his arms? The idea of carrying Javert like a woman made him blush. He would not really be able to see where he was putting his feet, but Javert’s leg would get knocked around less... Plus, the guard was thin and did not seem to weigh too much. 

He shifted, and tucked one hand under Javert’s armpit, before bending enough the grasp under his knees. The lurch as he straightened made the guard yelp and his eyes roll back into his head. The thought of what state his leg was in made Valjean feel queasy, but he pushed it back and began to head back into town with the lax weight of the prison guard in his arms.

If they caught him, his punishment had better not be too severe for this.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time was closer to the actual prison. It was not nearly so interesting as the first, though the convicts later enjoyed laughing about it.

It was a few years later, and Javert may have filled out some, but he was still a thin young guard, especially in comparison with the others who watched them with the eyes of a bird. Valjean was a few years more bitter having had another foiled escape attempt and a lengthened sentence.

The guard had been watching the convicts haul a ship into the docks. Valjean had been nearby, having just been removed from solitary. He was watching the young man as he stood on the edge of the concrete, too close to the edge, in the convict’s opinion, but he was not going to risk anything by mothering him about it.

It was raining, as it so often seemed to be here, as though the weather chose to match her mood to those around her. The precipitation combined with the howling wind made the second guard, a white haired and aging man with a scowl permanently etched into his features, very difficult to hear.

The guard was reeling off something about behaviour and fighting, seeming to have no interest in the fact that Valjean only ever broke up fights. Jeanne, his sister, had made him promise to be careful when she had said goodbye to him. He was not expecting to ever see her again, and he knew he had not been careful in much over his time here, but Valjean had vowed to himself that he would not start fights, and would only interfere if it seemed vital.

He kept his eyes focussed on the silent guard who stood sentinel by the docks, the wind whipping around him, causing his uniform to move with it. He was a sight more attractive than the old guard, also stick thin but seeming to be made up of pointy bones, that was angrily ranting at him.

Javert turned, eyes dropping to his feet as again, he moved along the very edge of the wall. It seemed like a dangerous game.

Valjean’s thought very proven correct, as a gust of wind swept Javert’s feet out from under him. He fell heavily on his shoulder and disappeared off the edge. If there was a yell, it was lost in the wind, but Valjean moved anyway.

He fell to his knees as he looked over, and saw two blue eyes staring wide back up at him. He stretched out a hand and grasped the man’s wrist. Javert made no move to pull himself back up; he merely stared at Valjean, his legs spread underneath him to help his balance.

“Come on, boy!” The old guard beside him was yelling, “Come on! Pull yourself up. It’s not as though 24601 will drop you.”

Startled, Valjean glanced at him. It was not the confidence in his strength that was odd, many of the guards were aware he could carry heavy objects with a fair amount of ease, but the confidence in his character. Most the guards considered convicts to be inhuman monsters that would have no issues with letting their jailers fall to their deaths.

“Come on! Don’t make me kick your gypsy behind later on! You get back up here!”

Valjean turned his attention back to Javert, willing him to agree with the man. At last, Javert reached shifted his grip, curling his body in to allow the convict to hold his weight. Valjean leant forwards to wrap an arm around his back, hauling him up onto the ledge.

Javert sat on the ground, leaning forwards on his hands, half coughing, and half retching. His face was white as the shock began to catch him up.

Valjean ran a hand over his head and looked over at the men in the docks; an idea forced itself into his mind, and he stood up.

“You ought to go to the infirmary. You fell badly.” He stated.

“No.” But Javert was gasping, which took the authority out of his voice. “I am... Fine!”

“No, boy. He is right. You get over to that infirmary and get check out.” The old man was pale as well, but he was stood on steady feet and nodding his head. Nearby guards were looking their way, curious about what was going on, but not enough to leave their posts.

When he saw Javert was standing on trembling legs, he repressed a grin. Stories were one of the few things you could easily trade in here, and ones that were true were even better. He stepped forwards, and pulled Javert into his arms, quickly wrapping arms around his back and under his legs.

Javert hissed at him, clutching at his shoulder as the movement turned his stomach.

“I... I can walk. I am not... so weak!”

“This is fine, boy. Let’s get you checked over now.” It was hard to tell if the old man was mocking Javert or if he was actually concerned... He’d gotten used to the idea of Javert as a person with thoughts and feelings, but it had never, for some reason, occurred to him the other guards may feel worry, or have a sense of humour too.

They set off to the infirmary, Javert’s glare burning into him the whole way. Valjean enjoyed the weight of the guard in his arms nonetheless. He had to fight to keep an amused smile from his lips.


	3. Chapter 3

The third time he carried Javert in his arms, it had been a few years. He was living as the mayor of Montreuil sur Mer with Javert as his chief inspector. It was, if not a happy existence, certainly a content one. He lived a humble life, helping those in need and praying to God frequently.

Javert seemed to be in a similar situation. He lived a simple life, Valjean was aware he had one room that he rented, but the man had simply stated he did not need any more, he slept there and nothing else, so why pay for more. Javert... did not exactly help those in need, but he did try to help those who were being treated unjustly. Not that he saw all the injustices in the town; like Valjean, he was but one man facing a seemingly impossible task, but he did try. 

Valjean had never seen Javert praying, he never seemed to show devotion to anything but the law, which was far less merciful than God, but perhaps Javert took the warnings of their Lord seriously, and kept his prayers quiet and not letting his right hand know what his left was doing, especially in the name of charity. He still wore the rosary Valjean had given him, as he had caught a glimpse of it once, when he had arrived at Javert’s room late in the evening and found the inspector stripped of his jacket, down to just his shirt.

The sight of Javert’s collar bone had burnt through the mayor more than seeing an accidently revealed flesh of a woman. He had gone home and dreamt of it, dreamt of stripping the man down further, Javert allowing the mayor to do as he wished... But no. He tried to not think of it anymore, not even in fantasies in the night, Javert would never agree to such things if he knew who he truly was.

Still, the third time Valjean had carried the younger man in his arms had been in Montreuil sur Mer. It had been late in the evening as he had returned home after a day of battling through his correspondence, that he had heard a commotion.

There was a tavern nearby, where men had a drink; it was a Saturday, and there were often men drinking away a week’s hard labour before the rest of the Sabbath. He turned the corner to find a several sailors, recognisable for their uniforms, arguing with a group of local men. He was unsure of what the disagreement was over, but chose not to work his way in. He had learnt, through watching fights in Toulon and then seeing that behaviour translate over into free men; that people often shouted to release their feelings, as an outflow to stop the pressure bursting like a pipe.

He turned and carried on, turning his gaze upwards to view the first of the stars emerging. It was spring, and while he did enjoy the heat of summer and the coming of the flowers, he did miss the winter’s dark nights that were so good for viewing the stars.

There was a yell behind him, and he turned back. The men were outright fighting now, and he stepped closer. He was not keen on pushing himself into a drunkard’s brawl.

There was more yelling, and he could see several policemen pushing their way in, using their truncheons as necessary. His police were good, swift to act and determined in their ways, especially with Javert at their head.

When he saw, however, that the men had intoxicated themselves past the point of stopping, that the men were now aiming their violence at anyone who crossed their path, he moved forwards, pulling men out of the way and pushing them to the cold stones of the ground.

There seemed to be a scruff going on in the centre, the local tradesmen shoving against the sailors, several policemen and what looked like several unfortunate passersby, women included were caught in it. He took a deep breath and yelled for them to stop, allowing the voice he had found in Toulon when he wanted attention to make its way to the surface.

It took another two shouts, but the fighting stopped. He felt a fury flowing through him, and had no problems with allowing them to know of the disgrace he felt in seeing this.

His anger went up a notch when he saw a number of bodies unconscious on the ground, two sailors, one well dressed woman, one poorly dressed woman and- and Javert! He tried to not growl at the men. In as calm as voice as he could manage, he inquired as to the problem. Several people at once spoke up, words like ‘whores’ and ‘sharing’ and ‘bitches’ making their way to his ears.

He silenced them, trying to force the convict back down, to keep his anger contained. Several people had made their way over to the well dressed woman, and someone was yelling they would go get a carriage for her. The sailors had been slung over the shoulders of their shipmates, so Valjean turned his attention to the poor woman and his inspector.

The police were stood nearby, their attention on the mayor.

“Should... Should we arrest them, Monsieur le Mayor?” One of the officers spoke up, taking a step forwards and bowing slightly in a move that reminded Valjean of Javert.

“Can you not fine them here? I’d prefer it if you focussed your attention on getting these two to a hospital, and anyone else who is injured.”

“Yes, Monsieur. If that is what you wish.”

He nodded and watched as the officers moved forwards to talk to individuals. Valjean moved forward to talk to one of the older policemen.

“I shall take Javert to a hospital myself; I do not think he will be too heavy for me. Will you take this woman somewhere and check she is looked after?”

“I... Monsieur Madeleine, she is a wh- I mean a pr- She is a woman of the night, how can she... afford...”

“Send any costs to my office and I shall deal with them. I want a report on how she is doing in the next few days.”

“Yes, sir.”

He walked over to where Javert lay unconscious. He was still very thin, Valjean observed, better muscled, he knew, but still thin. 

The ex-convict pulled Javert up into his arms and carefully stood up. He did not bother to enjoy the feel this time, he did not compare it to the last time he had carried Javert in his arms. While the memory of this would come back to him and, out of context, would send his blood racing through his veins and heat his skin deliciously; for now, Valjean simply felt concern that the man had been injured in his pursuit of justice.


	4. Chapter 4

The fourth time he had carried Javert had been merely weeks after he had been injured in the fight outside the tavern.

Being knocked out seemed to have harmed Javert’s self-esteem, and he had become more determined in his work. He’d heard a number of people gossiping about the town, as was their wont. Recently, they had been discussing how Javert was patrolling at all hours; early in the morning, in the afternoon, on an evening... A good number of people had stated how much safer they felt for the inspector’s devotion to his duty, but there was a good number of people who considered him a nuisance. 

The fourth time Valjean had carried Javert was entirely the inspector’s fault. 

The mayor had spoken to the sister who had tended to him at the hospital, and she had reassured him the inspector would be mostly fine. This had not settled his fears as she had wanted and he had continued asking. She had sighed and frowned at him, clearly reluctant to discuss the problems of such a private man, but his station gained him the information he desired.

Inspector Javert was mostly fine. He had received a blow to the head, but the headaches from it would ease with time; He had a knife wound down his back, which Valjean had noticed by the time they had reached the hospital and he had discovered his sleeve was bloodied, but that would heal so long as he was careful; he had various other cuts and bruises, but there was no concern with them.

He was, she had noted, underfed though. She had been frowning at him severely (Though not outright glaring, perhaps because she was a nun...) as though Javert’s eating habits were his responsibility. She had stated that though he was muscled, she could count every one of his ribs.

In response, he had flushed at the thought of Javert’s bare ribs, and told her he had not really noticed. She had frowned at him again, shook her head and informed him Javert needed more food and more sleep.

Armed with this information, Valjean had tried to make a difference, he really had. He had taken to inviting Javert to his home on an evening for a meal, he was rejected though, as the inspector seemed to work every evening the mayor was free. He invited him to breakfast, but Javert stated that on a morning he was either working or sleeping, neither of which he was exactly willing to interrupt to breakfast with him.

He tried to ask Javert to take time off, but the man had simply stated he had nothing to do in his spare time, so he may as well work. This had resulted in the mayor trying to pull Javert into various hobbies.

He asked him around for cooking, as he himself had greatly enjoyed learning; he invited him to learn sowing, darning and other useful skills, though these Javert already knew how to do; he asked the man to stargaze with him, and had even gotten him to spend half an hour watching them, before he excused himself to go question some youths that were making him suspicious.

He invited the inspector to study books with him- the Bible, poetry, even a tome he had found with instructions for fighting. All his attempts were turned down and he suspected it was the difference in their levels of office. Javert simply could not allow himself to relax and have fun in the presence of a superior.

In fact, Valjean had noticed Javert had taken to... almost fleeing, when he saw the Mayor. As soon as the inspector caught a glimpse of him, there was something he needed to investigate, so he could not possible stop and chatter with him.

It was almost painful, even while being amusing, that Javert did not want to spend time with him; that Javert considered himself so much lower than Monsieur Madeleine, simply because he did not know Madeleine was a lie.

It meant, however, that he could not check on Javert eating and sleeping. He found that, even when listening to Javert deliver his reports at the end of the week in his office, he could not ask for the knowledge because it made the younger man so uncomfortable.

Late in the afternoon, as Javert was delivering a report on the police's dealings with several crimes, Valjean took a good look at him. He was pale, his skin a feathery white with a high blush that did not look healthy. His eyes were unfocussed and he was blinking rapidly.

He held up a hand to halt the man.

“Javert, are you ill?”

“What?” He voice was slurring, and Valjean felt irritation and concern bubble up in his chest.

“You are ill. Why are you working?” He would get to the crux of the problem.

“Can’t afford to be sick, sir...”

“Nonsense. The town will not fall apart because you took a day off.” Javert was very good at his job, but he had reinstructed the police force here well in how to handle things.

“No, sir... Can’t _afford_ to be- to be ill, sir.” Could not... afford...?

“Surely, you will not fall behind in your rent if you are off...” Was he so poorly paid? It was never even occurred to him, and people who relied on him for such things came and complained if they were unhappy with their wages.

“No, sir... But I was off just before... I missed nearly a week of work then...”

Javert staggered slightly, and Valjean stepped around his desk to grasp the man’s arm.

“You should have told me. Now, come. We are going to my home, where you shall eat and sleep. After this, I shall go see your landlady.”

He moved over to the hook by the door and pulled on his over coat, fastening the buttons. When he turned back, Javert was holding himself up with the desk, but sending a fiery glare in his direction.

He smiled gently, wrapped an arm around Javert’s shoulders and they left for his home.

It was a frustratingly slow walk. Valjean simply wanted his... charge... tucked up in bed with a warm meal settling in his belly. Javert wanted to go the other way, if his angry huffs of breath were anything to go by.

They got most of the way back by the time Javert had to stop. He gazed about, his eyes unfocussed for a moment, before allowing his head to fall upon Valjean’s chest. His knees dipped, and Valjean slipped both arms around the man, holding him tightly.

“Javert?” He asked softly, but received a murmur in reply. “Come now, we are nearly there.”

There was no response. The mayor looked about; the streets were quiet and no one was in sight. He deftly pulled Javert back into his arms, carrying him the rest of the way. He was warm, but it would not be a problem.

Valjean would be able to feed the man and make sure he rested, and hopefully Javert would be able to accept his offered friendship.


	5. Chapter 5

There was, unfortunately, a fifth time. The memory of it, however, left Valjean with a heavy heart every time he thought of it.

The whole incident had started many years after Montreuil sur Mer, after Valjean had confessed to being 24601 to save the accused from spending the rest of his life in prison for stealing some apples, after fleeing the court, the town and rescuing Cosette. It started after he had come to Paris, content to live as a well-off but generous man who kept up his habit of smiling to avoid talking to people, and giving money to avoid smiling.

It started at those barricades, when he had stepped into that warzone to find the man his daughter was infatuated with. He had been led into the back as they showed him the spy, and he had been almost shocked to see Javert on his knees.

This was not that he was shocked to actually see Javert, for he had seen the man not too long ago, it was the reason he wished to travel to England, to finally escape his past. He was shocked that it was Javert who was the spy though. The man had never been a good liar, for as long as Valjean had known him. 

He supposed that it had been nine years since he had last seen the man though, so it was possible that he had acquired a new skill in that time. He had quelled the panic he had felt, though, at seeing Javert bound up.

The inspector had been left kneeling with a rope around his neck. He was gazing a Valjean, but did not speak. In fact, he seemed almost upset as they stared at each other.

Valjean quickly earned their trust, both by spotting the sniper taking aim on the roof, and by the young boy’s words. The boy, Gavroche, seemed endlessly cheerful. The laughed and ran around happily; he seemed quite unaware of Javert’s gaze upon him, sad, almost pained... Valjean noticed it though, as he tried to gain possession of the man.

The realisation that Javert could care about more than the law, even though Valjean had suspected it all along, since he had realised Javert was human so many years ago in the miserable nightmare that was Toulon... Even though he had suspected it, seeing the evidence of it cut through Valjean like a knife, to see tears glisten in his eyes...

He pulled Javert outside, relieved that they were moving away from danger for the moment. He cut the ropes binding Javert’s hands. 

“Get out of here.”

“I don’t understand...” His voice was soft, hoarse from having the rope cutting in.

“Clear out of here.”

“Once a thief, forever a thief. What you want you always steal. You would trade your life for mine?” Could he not understand? Valjean was not just a thief and he was not so bitter he would kill a policeman just because he was there.

“Yes, Valjean. You want a deal. Shoot me now for all I care, if you let me go, beware; you’ll still answer to Javert!” His voice was pained as his confusion bled through. 

“You are wrong and always have been wrong. I am a man, no worse than any man.” He looked at the inspector, feeling sadness well through him. He did not seem to understand kindness; did he need it spelling out?

“You are free, and there are no conditions; no bargains or petitions. There is nothing that I blame you for. You have done your duty! Nothing more.” He kept his eyes on Javert, hoping they would express what he was struggling to say, hoping Javert would understand...

“If I come out of this alive, you will find me at number 55, Rue Plumet. No doubt our paths will cross again.” Of this he was sure. Javert would not give up.

He watched the man turn and leave, confusion and sadness still warring on his face. Valjean raised his gun and shot the brickwork, causing Javert to flinch and glance back as he hurried away.

Behind him, he could hear clapping from the hope filled but foolish students, who clearly thought he had shot the man. He turned and walked back to them, worry flowing through him as he tried to think of a way to save Marius from an attack here that he could not really anticipate.

Later on, when he managed to escape those blasted sewers, he did encounter Javert again. The man was once again stood on the edge of the wall, frowning as he looked down. He was not sure if it was himself Javert had been awaiting, if he had had a moment of insight, or if he was waiting for Thénardier, or someone else. He found he did not care.

“It’s you, Javert. I knew you wouldn’t wait too long. The faithful servant at his post once more. ” He wanted to sigh, he did not wish to argue at this moment; he just wanted to find a doctor. “This man’s done no wrong, and he needs a doctor’s care.”

“I warned you I would not give in. I won’t be swayed.” The man stood with his feet apart, a determined set to his jaw. Nonetheless, Valjean had to try. His daughter was waiting for this one...

“Another hour yet, and then I’m yours and all our debts are paid.”

“The man of mercy comes again,” Javert’s voice was loud, but it did not hide the incredulous tone it had taken on, “and talks of justice.”

“Come, time is running short. Look down, Javert. He is standing in his grave.” He stared up at the inspector, his eyes pleading. “Give way, Javert. There is a life to save.”

“Take him, Valjean.” Spat Javert, stepping back and allowing them to climb out. “Before I change my mind.” 

Javert helped him pull the body onto the side, allowing him up the last few steps without his burden. The inspector helped again with picking him up, then allowed them into the carriage he had waiting.

The inspector was silent, but his mask seemed to have been broken; so many confused emotions flitted across it... 

They reached his home, and Valjean’s attention went to the boy. He pulled him into the house; barely acknowledging the inspector’s “I will be waiting.”

He took the boy straight through to the back and put him on the ground. He hurried to the well and hauled up some water, before quickly cleaning him up. He used a piece of clean cloth to tie up the shot wound, before washing himself. How long would Javert wait before coming to collect him?

Both as clean as he could manage, he picked the boy up again and put him down in the spare room. It was plain, with nothing more than a bed and a table in it, but it would suffice. He quickly bound the wound, having seen enough injuries in his time to know how to deal with it.

He wondered where his daughter was, he would have liked to say goodbye... But she was not here.

Neither was Javert, or the carriage, he noticed.

He hurried out into the street and looked around. No... He could not see him. Something rang odd about this, and he hurried inside to grab his greatcoat.

He scribbled a note quickly before going outside, grabbing one of the ever present gamin and pressing a coin into his hand, with instructions to deliver the note to a doctor. He then turned and jogged down the street.

He moved along to the main street, following it around till he came to the Seine. On the bridge, beside the parapet, he could see the inspector. He was once again pacing up and down on the edge of a height.

He was not wearing his hat.

It was a strange thing to notice so clearly, but it filled him with a cold fear, and he began to run as quickly as he could towards the man.

Once on the bridge, he slowed, not wanting his footsteps to startle Javert. He watched as the inspector paced, muttering under his breath one moment, and then yelling aloud the next.

Javert stood looking into the waters for a moment. He raised his eyes up to the stars. He fiddled with the buttons on his coat, then took a deep breath and shut his eyes.

“No!”

The inspector’s head whipped around as Valjean ran the last few yards to him.

“No, Javert.”

There were tears trickling down his cheeks. Valjean held out a hand to him.

“No.”

“Leave me.”

“No. I cannot.” He would not. He would remain here till Javert came down.

“I... I am not an honourable man. You ought to leave me.”

“You? You have always done your duty.” He was aware that not long ago he had been spitting angry words at Javert about who he was, but surely that had not contributed to... this...

“Please, Javert.”

The man looked at his hand, then into Valjean’s eyes. He held them for a moment, then the policeman’s knees gave way, and Valjean moved forward to catch him.

In his arms, Javert sobbed. Looking at him, there was physically nothing beautiful about it; his face was red and blotchy, his eyes were raw, twitching with his gasps, there was more liquid running from his nose, from his mouth. 

It was not a beautiful sight physically, and yet there was something touching about it. He felt that fondness grow in his chest. He remembered how the police inspector in Montreuil sur Mer had struggled with having help of any kind of someone, how he had been stubborn to the point of nearly burning out...

He allowed Javert to sob his anguish into his chest, rubbing his back firmly at first, then just holding it. He allowed the man to press his face into his coat, not to hide the shame; Javert did not seem to care for that now, merely due to the exhaustion.

How had he not guessed, when he had seen the confused and anguished expressions in the carriage that the inspector was not himself? How had he not known that he was bothered? He, who likely knew Javert better than anyone...

Javert’s breathing had steadied, and he lay still in Valjean’s arms, fully trusting of him. He pulled Javert into his arms and carried him home.

The man was a heavy burden, still thin as he had been, but no longer the youth he had once held. Perhaps he was heavier, not just with age and muscle, but the knowledge that it would take time before he returned to himself...

He would teach Javert kindness and love. He hoped his daughter would help, though she would be busy with Marius, because she taught him so much of what he knew...

He pressed a kiss to the man’s head, and found a place for him in his home.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a slow and painful process, but Javert started learning how to love. That was not to say he understood it yet, for he frequently assisted people when they required it, or tried to help Valjean with cooking even though he had no skill at all in it, he often sat and joined Cosette in her needlework, even though he did not like it...

He often helped, but was not able to give an answer as to why. Valjean had had a troubling time with him at first, he had been little more that a listless puppet. It had taken some time for Cosette to adapt to him as he sat silently in the corner. He often watched her when she came over, and it had made her uncomfortable at first, until she noticed something that even Valjean had not yet seen: He liked to see parents when they showed love and affection to their children. 

She took Javert for walks though, mainly as a way to spend time with the man without having to make awkward conversation. Perhaps, he mused, he should have allowed her to interact properly with others more. She was not comfortable with holding a conversation on her own.

On these walks, he knew, they went through town, often picking up vegetables for dinner. They would likely see many families about.

Later that evening, he had asked Javert about it. The man had stared blankly at him for a while, before softly stating he hadn’t known his father, and his mother hadn’t been fond of him. It was a sad thing, but as he clasped Javert to his chest and pressed his lips into his hair, Valjean had smiled. 

He was talking more and more every day.

Life continued, as was its wont, and so did they. They took walks together, explored the markets. They played various card games and spent long nights indulging Javert’s love of the stars. They cooked together... Or rather, Javert decimated the vegetables to go in their meal and Valjean tried to save the textures and flavours as he cooked them.

Cosette was engaged to Marius, their wedding date set and Valjean found he didn’t lose his light, as he had expected to when he had gone to the barricades to save his daughter’s new found love. He found that his light had been transferred into someone else.

One night in autumn, while they sat outside gazing at the sky, Valjean leaned across and pressed his lips to Javert’s. The man had simply smiled, pressed his back briefly and returned his attention to the sky, and the story he had been telling of a constellation.

It had not been a dramatic moment; there was no sudden realisation or discovery. They had been at this point, living this life for a while now. A kiss had been no surprise.

Javert was, he discovered, more accepting of kisses. He did quite seem to enjoy taking them, in fact. They slept in the same bed, as they had since that first night, when Cosette had been in her own room, Marius in the spare and Valjean was unwilling to leave Javert alone.

Their interactions in the bed slid into less chaste territory. They already had a tendency to wake up tangled together, making it one of Valjean’s favourite parts of the day. Now though, they tended to go to sleep wrapped up together as well.

He enjoyed lying flush against Javert’s back, hiking up his nightshirt and running his hands over the man’s skin. Javert did not mind this so long as the candle was out and Valjean could not actually see his skin.

He soon found he enjoyed laying kisses across Javert’s shoulders as he slept. He found that rocking and whispering to Javert could soothe away his nightmares. He suspected Javert was helping with his own nightmares, as they did not wake him in the dead of the night anymore.

His favourite way to lie with Javert though, was on his back with the man curled up on top of him. He could run his hands over the other’s body as he pleased this way. He particularly liked feeling the man’s buttocks. 

It took a long time, but they did manage to venture into sex. It was odd how easy it was... Not the actual sex, they had had several aborted attempts at that because Valjean had an unfortunate tendency to drop the oil he was trying to use on Javert. It was both mortifying that he got so nervous at the thought of entering Javert, yet wonderful because it made Javert roll his eyes then slick his own fingers up and... Watching Javert finger himself was something that aroused him no matter where he was. He’d had to start controlling his thoughts a lot more as they tended to wander over to that particular one.

It was odd how easy venturing into sex had been. There had been no big discussions on ‘what shall I do, what shall you do’, they simply settled into roles. They had no problems with switching their roles about, as they were happy together. There had not even been issues of _how_ , as both had seen how during their time in prison.

Valjean wondered how he had lasted this long without the other man. It seemed so natural to press a kiss to his sleepy face on a morning, to wrap an arm around his shoulder when they passed in the house, to kneel beside each other for prayers.

It thrilled his daughter to see him so content. She said he no longer seemed twitchy, or hunted. He had wondered how to explain it to her, but Javert had spoken up himself, and firmly stated everything he knew. Valjean had filled in the blanks, trying to calm his pounding heart.

She was wonderful, though. It had not fazed her to learn he was an ex-convict. She had laughed, told him he was still her Papa, and settled in to help Javert with fixing various shirts. The man may have resigned from the police, but he had taken up a certain amount of needlework to keep busy. He did not let it phase him when others said it was woman’s work, he just smirked and said it was necessary to keep his fingers active, for he often used them. Valjean flushed every time he said something of this nature, and stamped down on his memory to avoid any badly timed arousals.

He was happy, and life was good. He enjoyed pottering about and doing gardening, or fixing, or any of the heavy lifting Javert always seemed to find. Javert took care of the cleaning, of the shopping and he had taken to purchasing books to read for relaxation and enjoyment other than the Bible. Javert was still not allowed to actually cook and Valjean let him fix things and bark at any people he saw doing things he did not approve of.

He had lost a certain amount of confidence in spotting crimes though, after deciding he had been blindly following the law, he no longer wanted to make convictions about what he saw. Valjean found it quite upsetting, but at least he no longer claimed to be dishonourable with regards to the law.

They were informed, early summer morning nearly 5 months after Cosette’s wedding, that she was with child. Valjean had been thrilled, and even Javert had managed a sincere smile when he congratulated them.

The bright sun, the beautiful garden, the smell of the summer... The wonderful news, the soft lines of his love’s face... Valjean had been unable to help himself.

He plunged his tongue into Javert’s mouth before stripping him in view of the window. Javert had flushed in an instant, colouring all the way down his chest. He had been beautiful, and Valjean finally enjoyed the view in the sunlight.

He pushed Javert over to the wall and pinned him there, kissed him thoroughly. The slick of his tongue, the heat of his body, and soon enough, the feel of his thighs as they wrapped around his waist...

He managed the oil on his own this time, fingers exploring to make Javert cry out. He showed the man his strength had not diminished with age by lifting him up and taking him against the wall. Javert moaned exquisitely and writhed in his arms.

When he came, he fell forwards, vision whiting out. He felt Javert’s legs drop either side of him, and he sank to the floor, sated entirely.

He came to when Javert was staggering with him towards their room. He was half slung across the man’s back, pressed nicely against bare flesh, but the thin line of his mouth and determined set of his face made him want to laugh.

“It’s fine, my love. You do not need to carry me.” He resisted saying that Javert couldn’t. He did not want to end such a wonderful day with Javert sulking in a corner.


End file.
